


The Coming Wave

by imperfectkreis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Prompto has been many different people, shedding lives as he outgrows them. Noctis doesn't have that luxury. But that's okay. They're okay. And they're going to find a way to be fucking great, together.(Implied spoilers through chapter 13)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [The Coming Wave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183151) by [GreenCabarette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenCabarette/pseuds/GreenCabarette)



He learns to grieve.

The first life he mourns is his own. The one he ends in Niefelheim. 

Because he's small and scared and the only word he knows is “survive.” He knows it even though he can't remember ever having lessons in language, or anything else. Still, the word throbs behind his eyes as he runs, ducking from cover to cover, always expecting footsteps at his back.

Survive.

And, miraculously, he does.

Besides, he's just one of many. He doesn't pose a risk. Even with that knowledge, it's hard to calm his racing heart. He could have died. He would have died anyway. At least now, maybe, he’ll have a chance to live too. 

So he finds one crate tucked among many on the Imperial loading docks. He cannot read, but he sees similar crates down the line being loaded onto the train. Going somewhere that isn't here.

Pulling the lid open just enough, He crawls inside. He barely fits, laying on his side and tucking his knees close to his chest, he tugs the lid back the best he can. He presses his tiny body against the shipment of metal fittings, cutting through his clothing, into his soft skin. Crying into his arms, it's hard to keep quiet. But no one hears him sob inside and the workers load the crate within the hour.

He's going to live. So it's easy to let go of what he leaves behind.

\--

Prompto is twenty when the news comes. It's good news. Real killer. There's going to be peace with the Empire. There’s going to be a wedding. Noctis is going to marry Lady Lunafreya and they’re going to be deliriously happy. Prompto is sure of it.

Everyone is so sure.

It’s kind of a big deal, Noct leaving for Altissia. For the wedding. The King, Noct’s dad, is going to see his son off. It’s a huge deal. 

And they actually let Prompto into the Palace, which basically never happens because he has no status, no rank. He’s been Noct’s friend for years but there’s no reason for him to be in the Palace so he can’t. He can’t normally go, even to just like, hang out in Noct’s private chambers or whatever. So normally if they’re going to spend time together, it’s in the tiny little studio Prompto has rented in Insomnia since he first figured out how to make it look like he has credits. 

But that’s another story. 

Anyway, today is the day they’re leaving the Crown City and they actually let Prompto into the Palace, dressed all in black because now he has a position. It only took Noctis getting married for the bureaucrats to find the Prince’s best friend a job description. But Prompto isn’t even mad because he gets to stand next to Ignis and Gladio as they head down the stairs to the Regalia. 

And he just feels so proud. Proud to have made it this far. But proud of Noctis too. Because this is world changing. This is happy.

Prompto wraps his bony fingers over his wrist, squeezing down on top of the leather band. He can’t wait for the new world.

It’s not until days later that Prompto realizes he should have mourned Insomnia when he had the chance. But the city is in ruins and he can’t think much beyond that, everything is too loud and too fast. Even in the quiet of the seaside morning, life moves too franticly.

Noct sobs, the newspaper clenched tightly in his fists.

Survive.

\--

Awe.

Prompto stares in rapt attention, watching the ethereal blade, nothing more than light but stronger than anything on the surface of the planet, cut its way into Noct’s body, become a part of him. It’s...awesome. 

This is good. The Marshal says this is good. They need to find more of the Royal Arms. It’s Prompto’s job, and Ingis’ and Gladio’s, to help Noctis find them, consume them. They need to find the tombs.

But there’s this dread Prompto can’t shake, watching his best friend sliced through. And it’s not just that, it’s how quiet Noctis gets afterwards, still staring at the stone sarcophagus, with the face of his long-dead ancestor sketched in hard, stylized lines. There’s no way the dude really looked like that. He doesn’t look anything like Noctis. Not really.

If this is what Noctis needs to do, Prompto is going to do everything he can to make sure Noct succeeds. Maybe that isn’t much. But Prompto has to try.

And three days later, when they’re holed up in a motel for the first time in what seems like ages, Noct comes and finds Prompto on the roof. They sit between the neon and Prompto lets himself be selfish, if only for twenty minutes. Because the queasy feeling isn’t going away, no matter how hard he squeezes down. 

The Imperials keep sending MTs after them. It’s not going to stop. Even though the radio, the papers, claim Prince Noctis is dead, it’s hardly a secret Noct is still kicking around the continent. Everyone just agrees to have collective amnesia or something. It’s not like the cars that drive by don’t see them at the edge of the road, fighting back beasts and pulling weapons from mid-air. Only the Lucii can do that, and their appointed. Like Prompto.

In way too many words, Prompto tells Noctis, “I’m not good enough for you.”

“Yes, you are,” Noct replies, “more than enough.”

Noctis is going to marry Lady Lunafreya. At least, Prompto still thinks the wedding is going to happen. Because she’s alive, she’s safe, and Prompto still thinks that would be a good thing and Noctis still looks happy when he hears her name. 

Even though Noct is going to marry her, Prompto wants to kiss him in that moment. He’s wanted to kiss him a bunch of times before too. But he’s never felt deserving. Prompto doesn’t feel deserving now, but he aches for it, the pinky-red light cutting across Noct’s open smile.

I’m good enough.

“I love you, bro.”

Noct smiles back, “I love you too,” punching Prompto in the arm.

Prompto could swear though, that Noct frowns a little as they get up to head to bed.

\--

Prompto slips out of the sleeping bag, when he realizes the warm weight he’s grown accustomed to, isn’t curled up next to him. With Ignis and Gladio still sleeping, he tries to keep quiet. Managing pretty well, Prompto slips out of the tent, zipping it back up behind him to keep out the bugs and the cold that creep in the depth of night. 

Noctis couldn’t have gone far. Not with the demons. But he’s not on their little hilltop campsite. And Prompto can’t see him in the gleam of light the lanterns cast. Prompto hisses into the darkness, “Noct?"

“Here,” Noctis calls back, his voice harsh.

Prompto scales down the side of the campsite, heading towards Noct’s voice, somewhere in the near-darkness.

“Noct?” he needs another clue.

“Prom?” Noct offers.

And it’s not that Noct has strayed far, because, you know, demons. But he’s just beyond where the light touches, sitting in the grass, arms wrapped around bent legs.

Prompto flops down beside him, keeping his feet out in front of him and leaning back on his hands, “You alright, dude?”

It’s too dark to really get a read on Noct’s face, but the grain of his voice is usually enough. Noct is tired and worried and trying to put on a brave face. Prompto has been there, done that, gone through the motions with Noct a dozen times before, because sometimes the sulky-prince-thing totally suits him. It's downright sexy.

“Yeah, just, it’s a lot.”

“I know.”

Noct uncurls his arms from around his knees, sticking his legs out, just like, an inch longer than Prompto’s and rocking back on his arms too, putting one hand over Prompto’s and lacing their fingers together. Prompto tries to squeeze back the best he can, but it would be easier palm to palm, instead of Noct’s hand laying over top of his.

“We’ll figure it out,” Prompto offers. “We’ve got this. You’ve got this.”

Noct sounds calmer now, “I’m not so sure.”

“I’ll be sure for the both of us.”

They have to go back to the tent, before someone really worries. But for the time being they keep their hands against each others’ and Prompto doesn’t say anything when he feels Noct’s starting to shake.

\--

Prompto knew that it was going to work out okay. That whole thing with the Archeon. Yeah. Noct had everything under control, even after the Imperials showed up, MTs spilling from the open, gaping mouth of the transporter, flowing like a waterfall of bodies. 

Everything turned out fine, even though they were all broken and bloody and Ardyn snatched up the Regalia. They're alive. And that's always the first step.

In the Imperial transporter, Ardyn looks at Prompto, he smiles. He smiles at all of them. He smiles a Noct the most, making idle chatter, like they're real awesome friends now. 

But the Chancellor smiles at Prompto too. 

Prompto paces around the bay, trying to work the knots from his muscles. Ardyn comes up behind him, too close for comfort, his chest brushing against Prompto’s back.

Ardyn whispers, “I know,” circling his fingers around Prompto’s wrist. 

And then he's gone, shouting something else at Noctis. Prompto can't parse the words.

\--

It's raining, hard against the canvas of the tent. Drowning out all other sound. Except Prompto can hear Noct breathing, their faces close together, like always.

Prompto pulls his arm out of the sleeping bag, throwing it around Noct’s waist. The hair on his arm pricks up in the nippy air of the tent, but he likes being able to feel Noctis breathing.

“One sec,” Noct says, keeping his voice low. The sound of Noct unzipping his sleeping bag is way too loud. Prompto pulls his arm back to unzip his too. They're jostling around too much, but the other guys don't say a word. Shuffling around, they at least overlap their bags so the cold doesn't seep in. But their solution is not exactly airtight.

The warmth of Noct’s body against his more than makes up for it, though. Noct tucks his head in against Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto can smell the salt and musk still clinging to his skin, his hair. They washed in the river while the sun was still out. But it's not the same as a proper shower.

Noct drums his anxious fingers against the center of Prompto’s chest. Erratic, until it somehow finds the rhythm of his heartbeat. Kissing the top of Noct’s head, Prompto tries to get some sleep, now that he's sure that Noct is here, alive, brilliant.

Noct’s fingers speed up. Prompto reminds himself to breathe.

Then he forgets again, because Noct’s lips press against the apple of his neck. His mouth slightly open and wet, the tip of his tongue pressing against Prompto’s skin. But just as soon, it's gone. 

Prompto feels Noct mouth, “Sorry.”

“It's okay.”

He’ll be whatever Noctis needs.

\--

They're never alone.

That's probably for the best.

Because Prompto is sure he’ll have to grieve the loss of their friendship, given just two seconds to act.

It doesn't matter that they stop hiding how they zip their sleeping bags together, before Galdio turns down the light inside the tent. And it doesn't matter how Noctis slips his fingers under the hem of Prompto’s shirt, skimming along his abdomen in gentle, soothing strokes.

It doesn't even matter that they're both hard, most of the time. 

Because Noct is still going to get married. And it's going to be great. And even if this is all Prompto gets, this is pretty fucking great too, having Noctis’ hair tickle against his arm. Waking up tangled together, a mess of limbs and warmth.

And maybe misplaced optimism.

No. Not misplaced.

They're going to succeed.

\--

The hotel in Lestallum is familiar now. They've stayed here, on and off, half a dozen times as they crisscross the landscape, hunting down materials and Astrals and men. The overhead fans creak in every room they've stayed. But other than that, it's about the nicest place they ever sleep anymore.

Prompto isn't sure if that's why Noctis finally kisses him here.

They've kissed before. On the cheek, in each other’s hair. Sometimes, as a joke, they peck at the back of each other’s hands, smiling so their teeth show, scraping against the leather gloves they're always wearing.

But this time. This time.

Noctis takes Prompto’s face between both his hands, cradling him in his bare palms. Coming in real close, his eyes are bright, with that ring of red that fades in and out. More and more, Prompto notices its presence, lingering after battle. In this moment, the red is stark, choking out Noctis’s pupils.

“Please,” Noctis pleads. Prompto thinks he knows the rest of the question.

“Yeah,” he swallows hard, “yeah, Noct."

The kiss is clumsy and desperate and perfect. Too much teeth and all the enthusiasm they can muster, shared between harsh, staggered breaths. Prompto wraps his hands around Noct’s biceps, not knowing where else to stick them. Where he's allowed to touch, or how.

Noct keeps running his thumbs against Prompto’s cheeks and then they're both parting their lips, trying to chase each other down with broad strokes of their tongues. 

Prompto’s not sure it's supposed to be this messy, but he also doesn't fucking care. He can taste the faint sweetness still on the roof of Noct’s mouth from the hard candies they were sucking on earlier, one after another until their teeth started to hurt.

They end up sprawled over a bed, with Noct’s knee pinned in between Prompto’s thighs. Prompto manages to get his hands on board with his desires, skimming down Noct’s sides and dragging along the hem of his tee, then scratching blunt nails across his flat, soft stomach.

Noct hisses at the contact, arching in so their chests bump together, still separated by the cruel barrier of their clothes.

They should stop. They really should. Because it's not even over yet, and Prompto knows he's going to grieve. He's going to have to accept defeat. That was easier said and done before he knew the sensation of Noct’s teeth raking against his bottom lip.

The door swings open, Ignis catching them in the act. 

They both freeze, waiting for the fallout.

But Ignis doesn't say a word. Might be easier if he did. If he yelled at them or something, whatever, anything other than the cool stare from behind his glass’ glare.

“I've procured dinner for us,” he finally says, never moving from the door.

“Yeah,” Noctis says, his voice raspy with arousal he hasn't quite killed yet. Prompto can still feel Noct’s cock pressing into his thigh.

They extricate themselves, grabbing their jackets and trying to calm the hell down. Prompto knows his face must be like, really really red, blotting out his freckles. He adjusts himself in his jeans. At least he's only half-hard now.

\--

Prompto learns to grieve.

Because the next time he feels Noctis’ lips, chapped and feverish against his own, they're both bleeding, waiting for the potions they both downed to take hold. Noct pushes him against the stone outcropping, sealing their bodies together with his weight.

Tonight they're heading back to that house on the sea at Cape Caem. The place is full of people and expectations. They're supposed to set sail tomorrow for Altissia. For Lady Lunafreya.

But right now, Noctis pushes him against the rocks while their blood starts to clot. The ring of battle still in their ears. Prompto can't even think about where Gladio and Ignis are. What they're thinking. He can only really comprehend Noct’s body against his, hands fisted in the front of Prompto’s tee.

It's alright, really, that they can only have this. Stolen moments in between, crushed on either side by duty and obligation.

Prompto wraps his hands around Noctis’s hips, laughing against his lips. It all feels so surreal. Like he's dying against Noct’s skin. His hands and feet tingle, probably from the potion, but from Noctis too, grinding their hips together, the scent of trees in bloom all around them.

There's no privacy, there never is. But Noct doesn't seem to care, so Prompto won't care either, bucking up against Noct’s groin, laughing when Noct groans.

“Not funny.”

“No,” Prompto admits, “but I'm happy.”

It's mostly true.

Neither of them really have the words for this, or the patience. And Prompto is pretty sure he's ready to come in his pants, humping against Noct’s leg. But he wants more too. Doesn't know what that ‘more’ is, or how to ask for it, or anything like that. So he just cups his hand over Noct’s cock and squeezes down until he has his friend moaning back into his mouth.

If he were braver, maybe he could work Noct’s fly open, run his hand over hard, velvety skin, feel the weight of his dick in his hand. Prompto thinks maybe, sort of, he would know what to do with it. Because it can't really be that difficult, right? 

“Prompto,” Noct whispers into the shell of his ear, “just...I don't know.”

“You like it?” Prompto asks, waiting for Noct to nod before squeezing down again, “I could um...open your pants?”

“Yeah okay,” Noctis still has enough sense to look around, maybe trying to figure out where the other guys went. They must be long gone, “you too?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Prompto starts fiddling with the button on Noct’s dark jeans, working open his fly. Noct does the same to him, their hands and wrists bumping together.

Noctis stops, huffing, “wait a second,” tugging off his glove.

Prompto hesitates, but tears off his glove too, leaving the leather band above in place. He slots his hand into Noct’s pants, brushing his fingers against the outline of his cock.

It takes them a minute to figure out how to grip each other, without their hands knocking around too much, how tight to grip, and how hard to pull. But they work it out through encouragement and false-starts, at least well enough that Noct comes across Prompto’s fist in quick spurts. Prompto’s not far behind, burying his face in Noct’s shoulder as he comes, trying to keep quiet, even this far removed from civilization.

They're both breathing heavy, Noct laying kisses down Prompto’s throat.

“That was…” Prompto starts.

“Awesome,” Noct smiles.

“Yeah,” it's infectious, Noctis’ joy coating Prompto’s tongue, “awesome.”

\--

They share a room in Cape Caem, just the two of them. There are separate beds, but they both squeeze into one. Doesn't matter how cold it is, they shed layers so they can lay skin on skin under layers of blankets, still smelling slightly of sawdust, having come from storage.

Tomorrow is a new day. A new world, really. Prompto is ready to face whatever comes next, shed his skin and become someone else, leave a bunch of empty corpses that almost look like him in his wake. Because each time, he thinks, maybe, he comes back better.

But it's this skin that Noct touches, running his hand down the center of Prompto’s chest. They kiss for a long time, touch for just as long. Skimming hands and half-formed promises. It's hard to really talk though, to articulate what's happening between them. Prompto can only hope his simple motions express all the love he can't quite put into syllables. At least not yet.

Grieving is okay, it's normal. Prompto doesn't run from mourning, not anymore. Because tomorrow might be different. It'll definitely be different. But this is so much more life than he could have ever wished. And he wants more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are super appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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